Chapter 02 FEN
I knew it was coming, but as it turns out, being blindfolded is not one of my kinks.
After following Ollie through a maze of high ceilings, hardwood floors shamefully buried under mismatched rugs, and a veritable jungle of houseplants, we emerge onto another section of the porch—dripping with foliage and heady with the scent of honeysuckle—to meet Sadie Clarke, traveling photographer and unwitting architect of my current spiral.
It starts out fine—“Damn, babe, aren’t you fucking stunning?”—and it’s fun watching Ollie’s internal crisis while he drags potted plants around at Sadie’s direction and tries not to get caught checking me out.
I know what I look like and the effect it has on boys who’ve never been abruptly forced to question their own sexuality. It’s far from the first time I’ve witnessed the confusion of being caught by unexpected attraction. On another day, without Sadie’s cheerful chatter or the low thrum of anticipation over the coming encounter, I might be tempted to play.
But eventually, the moment of truth arrives, and I’m tucked into the cream-colored cushions of a vine-wrapped porch swing while Sadie covers my eyes with a white silk scarf and delivers an encouraging “be right back with your playdate.“
Her footsteps fade into the echoing house, and the silence stretches in her wake, broken only by the susurrant whir of insects in the grass and the babble of birdsong. Summer sounds, incongruous alongside the mounting clamor of my pulse.
“Are you nervous?”
I tilt my head toward Ollie’s voice, startled by the question. Was it my posture or my breathing that gave me away?
“I’m not very good at waiting,“
I admit. Behind the blindfold, the world is a wash of burgundy, like lamplight through wine. Unbidden, memory presses in—my mom at the dining room table, the corners of her eyes growing tight and tired as the bottle of Shiraz empties and the minutes inch past midnight.
After a long moment, the seat sways as Ollie lowers himself beside me.
“I can’t imagine people keep you waiting very often,“
he says, and the frank admiration in his voice loosens my shoulders enough for me to lean back into the cushion.
“How’d you get roped into this, Mr. I just live here? Is Sadie your big sister or something?”
“No, nothing like that. I was mowing out front when she drove by. She pulled over and talked my ear off, freaking out about the garden and the yard and the whole ‘hidden Victorian mansion’ of it all. By the time I gave her the full tour, she’d pitched the shoot and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Made me call Meredith and clear it before she would leave. Meredith’s the owner,“
he clarifies. “She rents me a cheap room in exchange for keeping all her plants alive while she’s traveling for work. It’s a big job, in case you haven’t noticed.”
I picture the jungle of houseplants and the lush, rolling grounds overflowing with flower beds. I bet Ollie looks good on his knees in the dirt. Or pushing a mower with his shirt tucked into the waistband of his shorts.
“How come you didn’t sign up for the photo session yourself?“
I ask. Don’t flirt with the cute houseboy, Fen. That’s not why you’re here.
“Oh. No. I’m not…“
He trails off.
“Photogenic? An exhibitionist? Gay?“
Against my better judgment, I knock his foot with mine.
“She’d already booked you guys.”
If I weren’t blindfolded, maybe his expression would tell me more than his voice, but he edges away from me on the bench as he says it, which I guess is answer enough.
I regret pushing it as the silence settles back over us, a little more awkward than before, then chastise myself for giving a shit. It’s hot enough in the August sun without his lanky presence at my side, knee bouncing every thirty seconds or so. Oliver “call me Ollie“
Earhart and his weirdly soothing jitters are not what I signed up for when I made myself sound as shallow as possible on the Sadie’s Strangers questionnaire.
My best friend Libby and I have a very specific set of rules regarding men. Rule Number One: Stay away from anyone named “Chris.“
This is a direct result of me losing my virginity to Chris Porter the first week of college, only to be spectacularly ignored the minute our lost weekend ended and his friends were around. For Libby, it’s because she showed up to freshman orientation to discover that the guy she’d been long-distance dating all summer—the guy who’d played a not insignificant role in her decision to attend Southern Illinois University in the first place—already had an on-campus girlfriend. Turns out, his name was also Chris.
Libby and I met when I found her crying in the back stairwell of the library, and after I forgave her for usurping my favorite pity-party venue and she forgave me for crashing said pity party, we declared ourselves cured of The Chris Disease and became inseparable.
Rule Number Two: Lingerie is the foundation of fabulousness. This is less of a rule and more of a life motto, but it helps a lot when you’re slutting your way through horny and/or curious college boys from repressed midwestern families while sticking to Rule Number Three: Don’t catch feelings. This last is obviously the most important since it prevents any kind of relapse and a host of other heartbreak- and-humiliation-related diseases.
Which brings me back to Ollie, who, despite the curious vibes he’s throwing my way, is not my usual target demographic. Being an easy hole for fratbro fuckbois is one thing. A guy like Ollie is nothing but kryptonite in a hot-nerd package. He’s a broken Rule Number Three waiting to happen. Not even my ego could handle the sting of that morning after.
So why did I sign up for this photo shoot if I am not, as the ad offered, “open to an unconventional connection”? Because I’m a shameless diva who can’t resist an opportunity to preen in front of a camera. And because Libby and I might have been high on mushrooms when we stumbled across the original post.
I’m shocked I was selected.
And the longer I sit here like an anachronism on this Victorian porch swing, with the growing certainty that I’ve been ghosted before I even get to the hookup, the more I regret the whole fucking thing. Especially once Sadie returns—the reluctant tread of her footsteps and absence of her trademark chatter are all the confirmation I need.
“He’s not coming.“
The words escape in a childish whisper, and I wince as Ollie stiffens beside me. “Looks like he’s not coming home tonight, Little Bee. Why don’t you run on up to bed now?”
Ollie stands, and I grip the edge of the seat as the sudden swing echoes the churn in my gut.
“Let me guess.“
I peel off the silk blindfold. “I’ve been stood up?”
“I’m so sorry, Fen,“
Sadie says. “I confirmed with him this morning, same as with you. Something must have happened.”
“Sure. An emergency. I hope he’s okay.”
“Don’t wait up. There’s been an emergency at the studio. Kiss Fen goodnight for me.”
No way Zachary drove by while I was flustering Ollie out front and changed his mind. Not when I’m dressed as fabulous as always and wearing the silk panties to prove it.
Coral lipstick on the wineglass and diamonds glittering on her fingers.
“It’s fine.“
I shrug, climbing to my feet with a casual stretch. The light on the porch has faded, taking on a greenish tinge, and a glance over the lawn shows storm clouds gathering in the distance over the trees. “Looks like it’s gonna rain, anyway.”
Sadie follows my gaze, fingering the strap of her camera with a sigh. “The storm light would have made for amazing photos,“
she says, then tosses me a crooked smile. “I could shoot you alone if you wanted. I hate to waste all that.“
A wave of her hand encompasses me in my carefully curated clothing, the hanging lilac along the porch behind me, and the oncoming storm.
If I wasn’t reeling from rejection and fighting the undertow of all my daddy issues, I might be tempted. She’s talented, and I’m all dressed up. It was never really about the other guy, anyway, because I don’t do possibility, and I can always find another one-night stand. But the offer feels a bit too pathetic after all the buildup, so I shake my head. “That’s—”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do the shoot with him.”
I whip around to stare at Ollie, my stomach swooping for an entirely different reason, but his gaze is locked on Sadie, a slow flush staining his cheeks. What is he doing? Well, obviously, he’s offering himself up for the session. The real question—the one that shouldn’t matter nearly as much as it does—is why?
“Thanks, but I’m good. No straight-boy charity necessary,“
I say, trying for airy dismissal but sounding a little too sharp and wounded to pull it off.
Sadie flicks me a reproving glance when his shoulders hunch.
“The application was for queer individuals,“
she tells him, her voice carefully neutral—not making assumptions but obligated to clarify.
Ollie shifts his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets, then sucks in a breath and glances my way. “I’m not…not queer.”
So, not entirely charity. Maybe more than curiosity. Still no reason for butterflies to be taking off in my stomach, signaling my departure from sanity. I prop a hip against the porch railing so I don’t bounce on my toes like a kid at the fair. About to climb onto the roller coaster, too giddy to recognize when I should be terrified.
Or it could be the ride of my life.
“Feeling curious?“
I cock my head, letting a hint of tease creep into my tone. “Having an awakening?”
“Something like that.”
I huff, fighting a smile, and tilt my chin, unable to resist preening a little as my confidence spills back in to replace my common sense. The click of Sadie’s camera tells me she’s already on board.
“It’s up to you,“
she says, crossing the porch to my side. “We can call it off if you want. This isn’t exactly what you signed up for. But…“
She tilts the camera, showing me the digital screen. “He’s pretty photogenic.”
She’s right, of course. The green-gold light of the fading sun slants across his cheekbones, calling out the splash of freckles and the glow of perspiration glinting in the dark curls at his temples. His lashes are unnaturally thick behind his glasses, and his eyes…
Fuck. He was looking at me like that, and I missed it playing coy and posing like a cat?
“Up to you,“
she says again, and though her tone is casual, something in the eager set of her shoulders and the way she shifts her weight like now she’s two seconds away from bouncing on her toes reminds me of my mom when she gets her hands on a project she’s excited to score.
Sadie wants me to say yes, and maybe it’s because she feels guilty that the other guy bailed or is trying to salvage an otherwise wasted afternoon. But maybe she wants to shoot me and Ollie together because she sees something there. Something like potential, and…
“Fuck it.“
Maybe it’s time to break the rules. “On one condition.“
Turning to Ollie, I offer my most winning smile. “No offense to Princess Donut, but first you gotta lose that shirt.”